Forever Paying Every Due
by BlueBohemian
Summary: Back story for MeatOz and Khashoggi. AU. Some slight angst in early chapters.
1. Prologue

**As always, anything you recognise isn't mine. **

**2274. 24****th**** January. **

'Amadeus? You must be joking.'

The woman shook her head stubbornly, 'No. I like it.'

Her husband sighed; he knew there would be no getting through to her at this moment in time. 'We'll talk about it properly later. There's no point deciding a name anyway, we're not keeping him.'

'Why?'

'Well, you know where he came from. I'm not sure we want a child like that as a brother for Joseph.' She opened her mouth to protest, but was silenced by a finger being placed on her lips. 'Even if you think we could crush that spirit and bring him up the right way.'

She scowled petulantly, 'But he feels _right_ for us.'

'We'll talk about it later.'

'Fine.' The woman pouted, then yawned. Naming, and indeed, choosing a child was an important business, and frankly, she was far too tired to think about it now.

The man, Georges, stroked her hair and bent over the bed, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. Though they were married, it was cold and sterile, for appearances only. No love had ever been lost between them; they married for convenience, and because their parents had wanted them to. Adrienne accepted his kiss unflinchingly; years of practise had trained her well.


	2. 2289 March 12th  Alistair

**You recognise it, it's not mine.**

**2289. March 12****th**** - Alistair**

Alistair sat at his computer, updating his online blog. He was utterly bored and miserable; nothing seemed to go his way, ever. His older brother, Joseph always, but always, got the girl, and had everything given to him on a virtual plate. Why, he had no idea. He knew his brother's current girl, Leila, absolutely hated him but was too scared to leave him. _How_ he knew he wasn't sure, but he always seemed to know these things. Although, when he thought about it, it was understandable. Anyone with half a brain could see she hated the sight of him; the forced greetings, the avoidance. It was also obvious why she hated him; to Alistair's mind, she was treated like less than dirt, and all because Joseph had discovered where her sympathies lay, namely with the Bohemians. And now, Joseph had forced him to cover for him while he went to see Leila. He knew Joseph wasn't his real brother; his 'father' took every opportunity to tell him that they had adopted him, and that he should be grateful for the chance he'd been given. His mother, technically, he supposed, his adoptive mother, Adrienne, doted on him, a stark contrast.

The large majority of the population of Planet Mall were happy with their GaGa world. But then, there were the Bohemians. Although Alistair had yet to come across one he had been led to believe that it was a good thing. The Bohemians were not spoken of, partly because Globalsoft had outlawed their name, and partly because of the fear in which they were held. They had become the universal enemy, and yet Leila saw some good in them, Alistair reasoned.

He logged off the computer and flopped back on his bed, hating his brother. Alistair knew Leila was too good for Joseph, and not that he'd admit it to himself, or anyone, for that matter, he loved her too. There was something about her; something indefinable that gave her a vitality rarely seen in their people. At times, he glimpsed that something in his mother, but it was just a flash and then it was gone. With Leila it was far more permanent; life had yet to crush her. It would though; Globalsoft got to everyone eventually. It wasn't just the GaGas and the Bohemians that one had to watch out for either. There was a nameless group that was little known and, he believed, that was far more dangerous than either Globalsoft or the Bohemians. This group were like GaGas, but somewhere along the line they had gone wrong. They were fanatical about Globalsoft and while the majority employed a philosophy of laissez-faire towards the Bohemians, this group actively tried to destroy them, as though they feared them so much they'd lost all touch with reality. He suspected his brother lurked somewhere between a regular GaGa and one of the nameless, his father too, if he were honest.

'Ali!'

The sound of his name brought him rapidly out of his furious reverie. His mother called again, announcing that dinner had arrived, and could he tell his brother to come and eat before it went cold.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, as the case may be, he'd taken too long in replying and came face to face with his mother as he opened his door.

'I can't find Joe. Do you know where he is?'

'Um… I think he said he was meeting friends to work on a school project,' he lied.

Adrienne sighed, despairing of her older son, 'Well, come and eat. He can order something later, if he deigns to join us.'

The meal was uneventful, save for Alistair's father making the statutory comments about his younger son's posture, his sullen attitude and his bad table manners. His younger sister Lucy made futile attempts to liven the conversation with bright prattle about her latest purchase, what the latest fashions were, and why she needed the latest WristWAP.

Joseph did not return until much later that evening, after Alistair had gone to bed. He had no idea how long he'd lain awake for, but he heard the slam of the front door and the raised voice of his father, and the protestations of Joseph's innocence.


	3. 2289 March 13th  Leila

**Recognise it? Not mine.**

**2289. March 13****th**** - Leila**

Leila put the finishing touches to her makeup; cursing the day she ever met Joseph Khashoggi. Examining her face in the three-way mirror, she decided the purpling bruise on her cheekbone was well hidden enough. She would have taken the day off school, but it would only make her mother worry, and at the very least she had to hand in three of her final assignments that day. At least, she reasoned, in less than three months, she'd never have to see him again. Or it would give her a head start at never seeing him again.

_She'd been doing extra research for a project on the history of the Globalsoft Corporation when her mother had shown Joseph in, explaining he was there to help with their Technical Studies Assignment, simultaneously chastising her daughter for neglecting to tell her he would be coming over as she'd run out of snacks for them, while explaining that she was going to help a neighbour with their new entertainment system, as it was the same as theirs. There was nothing she could do but apologise and allow for Joseph to be ushered in. _

_As the door closed behind him, he smirked, smiling slyly at her. 'Know why I'm here?' he asked scornfully._

'_No,' she answered truthfully. 'I thought you knew I never wanted to see you again.'_

'_Now now, that's not very nice,' he said, walking slowly towards her. 'But then, you're not, are you? I've heard on the underground that you've been telling me porky pies. I've heard the rumours that you're a Bohemian Sympathiser, and we can't have that now, can we?' his malevolence was clear, and standing face to face with her, he slapped her. 'You bitch,' he whispered, being careful to keep the noise to a minimum, though he knew all walls were now made soundproof. Even a gunshot would not be heard outside the room._

_Though the blow was powerful enough to have knocked her to the floor, Leila hastily regained her balance and laughed coldly, never breaking their eye contact, 'I never thought even you would stoop so low.'_

_'Don't underestimate me then.' Though the skin was unbroken, the first markings of a bruise were apparent. Joseph traced the line of her cheekbone and the bruise with a single finger, running it down her jawbone, tilting her head back. 'Such a shame,' he said after a moment, 'it was such a pretty face.'_

'_You disgust me,' she said, fighting to keep her voice level. His emotionless tone was unnerving her and she suspected she knew what his next action would be. _

_His eyes flashed, anger boiling over. Calmly, he produced a short flick knife from his pocket, 'Do you know what I can do with this?'_

_Leila swallowed; she'd seen the knife before and had heard him brag about the things he'd done with it. He laughed cruelly at her silence, 'Scream all you like, no one will hear you.'_

She shook her head, forcing herself to ignore what he had done next; what happened had happened, and there was nothing she could do about it, therefore, there was no point dwelling on it. She couldn't report him; his family were far too powerful and it would be covered up, he'd be believed over her, and somehow, she'd have deserved it, or it would have been consensual. She was running late anyway, and though she lived near the High School, she'd have to take the Transporter instead of walking like she usually did.


	4. 2289 May 20th – Alistair

**Again, not mine if you recognise it.**

**2289. May 20****th**** – Alistair**

Alistair slammed his locker door shut and punched in the code to lock it, checking he had everything he needed before he left campus for the day. He was walking quickly; it had been a terrible day and he just wanted to get home.

'Hey!' He ignored the voice and carried on walking, hoping if he ignored them long enough, whoever it was would stop following him. _No such luck_, he thought as he heard footsteps behind him running to catch up, 'Ali, wait!' He recognised the voice that time and slowed to a halt turning around to face the speaker.

'Can I talk to you for a moment?'

'Now?' he asked hopefully. Leila nodded. 'Sure.' Leila looked at him awkwardly and fiddled with the lower hem of her tank top. 'But not here, right?'

'Sorry. It's just... it's awkward, y'know?'

He didn't know, but conceded with a shrug, 'Okay. I know someplace we can go.' He hadn't seen her in a good while, but it was plain to him that somewhere along the line, her defining spark had been lost, or at the very least, deeply buried. Though he tried not to show it, he was deeply concerned and was overly awkward around her, feeling like little more than a gawky teen.

The 'someplace' was behind the gymnasium, under a tree. It was secluded, but above all, it was quiet, primarily because it was last year's 'place', and no one with a care about their appearance would ever be seen dead there. He knew Leila knew this, and was slightly surprised at her acceptance of it, but said nothing.

'So,' he said conversationally, sitting on the grass with his back to the tree trunk. 'Why are you talking to me?'

Leila looked affronted but relented, 'Sorry. I know I haven't been exactly nice to you.'

'It doesn't matter. It's because of Joe, isn't it? I'm bad by association.'

She gave a half-hearted attempt at a laugh, 'Not entirely. I don't think even you could be as bad as him.'

Alistair looked quizzically at her, taken slightly aback by her obvious venom, 'You didn't hate him that much last time I saw you. What happened?' he asked, uncharacteristically softly. Leila offered nothing and stared at her feet. Alistair frowned, 'What do you want to talk to me about then? I presume that's why you asked to talk to me in private. Leila?' he repeated after a long, awkward silence.

Leila looked up at him slowly, her face shining with silvery tears, 'I'm pregnant.' She said it so quietly Alistair had to lean in to hear her. Her breath was warm against his cheek, the mint of her gum mingling with her custom designed perfume.

'What? How?'

'J- your brother. Two months ago. That night he asked you to cover for him. I think that's what he said.'

'But you'd broken up by then,' he said stupidly.

'Like he was going to let a little thing like that stop him,' she said bitterly.

Alistair blinked and frowned, trying to make sense of her revelation, 'But... how?'

'Do you want me to draw you a diagram?' she said, far more irritably than she felt. 'Look, Ali. Your brother thinks he can do whatever he wants and be able to get away with it. That's just what he does, or rather did. Unfortunately, he forgot to think about the consequences.'

Alistair reddened as he realised what she was implying, 'Oh. Have you told him?'

'Are you mad?' she said incredulously, 'Of course not. Actually,' she confessed guiltily, 'I've only told you.'

'Why are you telling me?'

She shrugged, not entirely sure herself, 'I had to tell someone. And you were the only person I could think of. Just promise me this goes no further. I thought I could trust you, and I'd rather not have been mistaken.'

'I won't,' he promised, then added after a pause, 'what are you going to do now? If there's anything you need, I can try and get it.' He felt stupid, and slightly moronic, offering her useless help that was likely to do more harm than good.

'Don't worry; there's nothing you can do, except keep it secret. As for me, I'm going to do the only thing I can do. You've heard of the Bohemians, haven't you?'

Alistair gulped and nodded, 'Of course. Who hasn't?'

'They're the reason he did this. Because he found out I don't actually think they should be persecuted. Anyway, I'm going to join them. Can't be any worse than this accursed place.' She stood up, silently declaring the conversation over, 'Don't try and find me, Ali. You can't find those who don't want to be found. It wouldn't be worth it anyway. You're gonna go a long way in this world, but it's not for me. But, please, I'm begging you, don't tell your brother. That's all I ask, and, that if you ever can, and something happens to me, look out for..' she shrugged, 'it, I suppose. Will you do that?'

Alistair nodded, standing up to join her, though she was slightly taller than he was, 'I will, I promise.'

'Thank you,' she said softly, bending her head down to give him a kiss on the cheek, 'Goodbye Alistair.'

'Goodbye,' he said sadly, watching her walk away. 'Leila!' he called after her, though she had only gone a few paces.

She stopped and turned, 'Yes?'

He gave her a rare smile, 'Good luck.'


	5. 2289 December 15th Leila

**If you recognise it, it's not mine.**

**2289. December 15****th****. Leila**

Leila screamed in agony, arching her back in an attempt to relieve the pain that she was convinced would tear her in two. Joseph was going to pay for doing this to her, and this kid, if it was anything like him, was so _not _going to be worth it. Her wrists were handcuffed on long chains, tying her to the bed to prevent her from trying to run away. She was breathing fast, far too quickly the doctor knew, though he ignored it with the reasoning that as she was a Bohemian if she died it would be one less for the Corporation to worry about. Also on this philosophy, she had been refused the offer of any form of pain relief, not that she would have agreed to it, had it been offered.

'I'll be back shortly,' the doctor said coldly, locking the door as he left, leaving her alone. She began to relax, wishing she were back home with the Bohemians. After she had left Alistair all those months ago, she had found the Bohemians and they had taken her in, asking relatively few questions. But, she had been captured on one of the few occasions she had been allowed to venture from the Heartbreak. That was almost two months ago, and though she had steadfastly maintained the false identity of a fellow Bohemian, she was convinced the doctor had heard her cursing Joseph and feared that would give her away.

While she was in the throes of another contraction, the doctor returned. She ignored him until the pain had subsided, then realised a second person had entered the room with him, turning her head slightly to see who it was, she swore angrily.

'I told you not to come after me.'

Alistair shrugged, 'I didn't.'

'How did you find me then?'

He shrugged again, awkwardly. Then, he turned to the doctor, 'Could you give us a moment?' The doctor nodded wordlessly and left them alone. 'Long story, and I don't really have time to go into it now. Suffice to say, I only just found out you were here.' He shrugged again, 'I had to come. And before you say anything, no, Joseph doesn't know about you. Or that I'm here.'

Leila smiled weakly, unbearably exhausted, 'Thank you.'

'I'll do what I can for the child. It won't be much, but it'll be my best.' He turned towards the door, 'I'm sorry it was so brief, but if I'm any longer, I'll be missed. Goodbye Leila.'

'Alistair.'

'Yes?'

'You know, don't you? What's going to happen to me.'

'No,' he lied. 'But whatever does happen, don't resist. It will only make it worse.'

The lie was thinly veiled, and she understood, 'I won't.' They stayed in silence for a moment before she continued, 'You should go. Thank you, Alistair. You've been a good friend. Could you do one last thing for me?'

'Of course.'

She beckoned him, and removed the locket she always wore, 'Can you give them this? I want them to have it, and if you don't take it, Globalsoft will.'

She dropped the locket into his hand, 'I will,' he nodded sadly, knowing he was seeing her for the last time, 'Goodbye.'

The door clicked softly behind him, reopening a short while later, as the doctor returned and, surprisingly, gave her a look that appeared to be an attempt at sympathy. After what seemed to be an intense internal struggle, he spoke again, undoing the handcuffs, 'It's too late for drugs, but is there anything you want?' Leila hesitated, wondering if there was a catch, but was interrupted before she could say anything, 'There are no conditions. You have friends in high places.'

'I want to name the baby.' The doctor agreed, relieved it was an easy request.

'It's a girl,' the doctor proclaimed several hours later. 'She will be taken tomorrow morning. Do you have a name?'

'Roxanne,' she said instantly. It had been one of the names she'd seen scrawled onto the walls of the Heartbreak, and it seemed to fit the emerald-eyed bundle the doctor had placed in her arms.


	6. 2289 December 28th Alistair

**If you recognise it, it's not mine.**

**2289. December 28****th****. Alistair.**

He had killed her. He _had _killed her. And he _would_ pay. If Alistair knew one thing, it was that his brother would pay for what he had done to Leila. Though he'd never been his biological brother, they had been brought up together and had been referred to as the 'Khashoggi brothers'. But that was over; they'd never properly seen eye to eye, and Alistair wanted nothing more to do with Joseph. He hadn't slept properly since the day he'd found out that Leila had died. As he'd known, soon after the baby had been taken from her, Leila had been taken by the police to have her mind blown. But, clearly, something had gone wrong. Either, she'd resisted too strongly and that had caused her death, or, far more likely, that since the technology was in its infancy, there had been a fault. It wasn't designed to kill, merely to cause her to lose all knowledge of Bohemia. But, she'd died. It wasn't _fair _damn it! It just was not fair. She'd deserved a proper chance at life, and it had been taken away. And he deserved a chance at a life with her.

Furiously, he kicked the outer brick wall of the hospital, feeling his one of his toes crunch as it broke. Overwhelmed by rage and hatred, he began hammering his fists into the wall, not caring that his hands were scratched and bleeding, or that tears were free falling. He slumped against the wall, shattered by emotion, breathing fitfully, punctuated by sobs. His WristWAP beeped at him. 4PM. Joseph would be leaving work, heading home for the evening. He didn't care that it was a rash decision he was making; he would avenge Leila's death. He would wipe the smug smile from his arrogant face. Decision made, he turned and ran, intending to intercept Joseph's route home.

He was just in time; he could see Joseph approaching in the distance, unusually enough, alone. Unthinking, he seized a shard of glass from a broken bottle and crouched behind a pillar, waiting. He knew he was out of Joseph's line of vision, giving him the slight advantage of surprise, which he intended to use to his full advantage.

The footsteps came rhythmically, the steel heels of Joseph's police boots clicking on the concrete. One two. One two. Looking to his right, he could see Joseph's lower half walking past. He waited a moment longer, until he knew he had been passed, then slipped behind the pillar, approaching Joseph from behind.

'You killed her!' he screamed, watching as Joseph turned, 'You're a murderer.' Instantaneously, Joseph's hand went to the pocket where his knife was kept, preparing to defend himself. He'd seen Alistair in this mood only once before; when he'd deliberately broken a favourite new toy in retaliation for not having been given one himself. Alistair had snapped at him, managing to break his nose before the pair had been separated. 'You killed her! You killed Leila!'

'Leila? If she's dead it's the bitch's own fault for running away.' The casual remark was a mistake, and he soon realised it. Alistair ran at him, hurling abuse. Joseph had thought he was unarmed, but a streetlamp reflected a flash from the broken glass in Alistair's hand as he brought it down, slicing across Joseph's face, spurting blood. Instinctively, Joseph stabbed the knife towards Alistair, cutting through his sleeve.

Unfortunately, Alistair realised, his brother had the advantage of height and size, and also had a superior weapon, the back of the piece of glass having cut his own hand as he struck Joseph. The blood trickled down his wrist, soaking into the cuff of his jacket. Still in a rage of fury, he lashed out in every way possible, kicking and hammering Joseph with his fists. He didn't care if he ended up dead; surely that would be better than living, knowing Leila had died, because of Joseph.

It was dark, and even by the light of the street lamp, little of their surroundings could be seen. Many blows were exchanged and much blood shed before a well placed and timed kick from Alistair, and a chance patch of ice from the previous night's rainfall unbalanced Joseph, bringing him to the ground with a resounding thud as his head hit the ground. Alistair fell with him, hands instinctively outstretched to break his fall. The glass cut through the sinews and tendons in his palm, resisting the thrust into Joseph's wrist. The resistance was only slight, and Alistair felt the crunch as the hand was partially severed, attached only by splintered bone and fragments of skin.

He wrenched the glass back, preparing for another assault, but Joseph lay motionless. Alistair was confused; the injury to the wrist wasn't enough to cause death, unless accompanied by prolonged and severe blood loss. The clouds shifted, casting faint moonlight onto the pair. A trickle of blood glimmered in the light, catching Alistair's eye. The blood wasn't the result of the wrist wound; it couldn't be, it was in the wrong place. He followed the trail of blood upwards, realising it was the result of a wound to the head. Gingerly, he ran his fingers over what he presumed to be the source of the blood and found the hair at the back of Joseph's head was wet and slightly matted by blood. A head injury was enough to kill, he was sure, and carefully felt for a pulse, as he had been trained in VirtualHigh. He found none.

Joseph was dead, of that he was quite sure; he had made no movement in several minutes, and on further inspection, the non-existent breath from Joseph's open mouth was invisible, whereas his own was.

His relief was an anti-climax; he wasn't elated at the realisation of Joseph's death. He had done his duty, and avenged Leila, nothing more. He laughed hoarsely as the reality of his actions sunk in; he had killed, and was no better than the body before him, though he still believed he had been justified. He stood slowly and staggered a few paces, then dragged his brother's body behind the pillar he had hidden behind a short while previously. It was safe there, he reasoned, until he decided what to do with it. He walked home, sticking to the back streets to avoid seeing anyone, and glad his parents would be away until later that night, when he had had time to bandage his hand and clean his other injuries.


	7. 2290 January 3rd  Alistair

**If you recognise it, it's not mine.**

**2290. January 3rd - Alistair**

'It's your fault he turned out like this! I said it was a bad decision! I told you we didn't want to raise a child like that! And I was right,' Georges added belligerently.

Adrienne was livid, a very rare occurrence, as she rarely raised her voice. Georges couldn't remember the last time she shouted at him, in fact, he didn't think she ever had. '_My_ fault? How is it MY fault?' she screamed back at him.

'Your _sympathies_,' he hissed at her, 'clearly, you didn't try hard enough to quell his! I knew we should have had him put in treatment.'

'How _dare_ you!? It has nothing whatsoever to do with me! You did nothing to help his childhood and adolescence, and quite frankly, you were a downright hindrance! You've probably scarred him for life! I don't know why I agreed to marry you!' The silence that followed the resounding slap was tangible. Adrienne gasped, clutching the side of her face, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. Neither of them said anything for several minutes, each reeling from the implications of their actions.

As one, they turned as the front door slammed shut. Alistair walked in and absorbed the scene before him in increasing horror. The look Georges gave him told him all he needed to know; they knew he'd been the one who had killed Joseph, not a Bohemian as the inquest had determined.

'You've got a nerve,' his father said coldly.

Adrienne merely looked at him beseechingly, 'Why, Alistair? Why?'

There was no escaping the inevitable; he'd known it had to come at some point. 'He deserved it. He was evil, he was a rapist…' choking at the thought of Leila, he added, 'And he destroyed the only good left in this world.' He bit his lip and swallowed, willing himself not to cry. But, he hadn't allowed himself to grieve for her; he'd only been consumed by anger, and long reserved tears trickled down his face. 'He killed her,' he whispered softly.

'Oh, pull yourself together, you nancy-boy,' Georges snapped. Adrienne wept quietly in the corner, starting towards her son, arms outstretched. 'Stay where you are,' Georges commanded her irritably. Joseph had been his favourite son; a fact he had never tried to hide, and while Adrienne had tried her best to be fair in her attitude to her sons, Alistair had always been her favourite, though he was not biologically related. He had been the son she wanted, rather than the one that reminded her of her husband.

Forcing himself to breathe steadily, Alistair stemmed the flow of tears, streaking his face silver as he swiped at the ones already fallen. 'You cannot stay here. It has been arranged; you are to go to your Aunt and Uncle in the London District; you will be brought up with their daughter Arabella; I believe she is the same age as you.'

'You can't do that! Georges, please, I beg you to reconsider,' Adrienne pleaded, clasping his wrist imploringly. He cast her aside, unfeeling, 'It has been finalised. You leave at nightfall.' Their dirty laundry would not, could not, be aired in public.

Alistair was devastated, but could not argue. He'd only been to the London District once before, and had hated it. It was a far cry from his current home in the Southern Scottish District of the Northern Euro-Precinct, and they spoke differently too. From the little he knew of her, Arabella was utterly spoiled and demanding, and he loathed her. And how could he keep his promise to Leila in _London_, of all places?

'Maybe they can knock some sense into you,' Georges continued coldly, 'Lord knows we can't.'


	8. 2305 June 17th Roxanne

**If you recognise it, it's not mine.**

**2305. June 17****th****. Roxanne **

Roxanne huddled behind the low wall she was using as a windshield, wishing she hadn't headed in quite so an isolated direction so late in the day. Dusk had fallen, and with it a cool night chill seeped through her thin GaGa clothing, and she wished there was more of it. She pulled a ripped sheet she had found on the edge of town out of her bag and wrapped it round her, fervently praying the wind would drop. Disillusioned and drunk, she'd made the snap decision to leave the Southern Scottish Precinct, along with their GaGa ways. She'd told her parents that she wanted to see more of their District, and insisted on going alone, but in reality she was running away, though from what, she didn't know. She'd taken a Transporter to the end of the line; somewhere near the London District, as far as she knew, and after that she'd wandered aimlessly, searching for something. Anything. She'd been on the streets for a little over a week, and had yet to find anyone meaningful. Though she wasn't entirely sure it was a good idea, and even if she actually wanted to find them, she was trying to find the Bohemians. She was sure they'd be able to help her, if she survived the initial confrontation.

Sighing, she decided the only thing she could do was to make the most of a bad situation, and sleep on it until morning came and she could continue her search. It wasn't so bad, she reasoned; the wind was a light breeze, and it made up for the searing heat of the day. Given that dawn rose early, she figured that at most, she had six or seven hours before she could move again. The ground was hard, but it wasn't concrete, so that was something. She lay down with her back against the wall, using her arms as a pillow and the sheet as a cover. It wouldn't be the best night's sleep she'd ever had, but at least it didn't look like it would rain.


	9. 2305 June 18th Britney

**If you recognise it, it's not mine.**

**2305. June 18****th****. Britney**

The two Bohemians had gone scavenging well before the sun had properly risen, in fact, they had left before the first rays turned the sky from inky black to midnight blue. Now, as the sky turned a soft orangey yellow, they were making their way back to the Heartbreak Hotel, completing their circuitous route.

'Mac! What's that?' the taller, more distinguished one hissed suddenly to his companion.

'Brit,' 'Mac' said pointedly, 'it is _Sir_ Paul. Not 'Mac'.' Brit rolled his eyes, admittedly, Big Macca was of a higher status than him, and self-proclaimed leader of the Bohemians, but the Bohemians mocked him and his arrogance, whereas, though he had only been with them a comparatively short while, Britney commanded their respect and was well liked. After all, he was biggest, baddest, meanest, nastiest, ugliest, most raging, rapping, rock'n'roll, sick, punk, heavy metal psycho bastard that ever got get-down funky; he _was_ Britney Spears.

Britney nudged Big Macca again, who was still in apparent shock over being referred to as 'Mac', 'There. What do you think?' he asked, pointing to the suspect heap.

'Since, clearly, you are to chicken to find out yourself, _I'll_ go,' Big Macca said importantly. Cautiously, with several glances behind him, and encouraging motions from Brit, Big Macca approached the bundle of rags. He was holding a long stick, intended for banging against something else, in an attempt to make music, and after looking between the stick and the bundle several times, he gingerly poked it, taking a step back, as though fearful it would explode. The bundle did nothing, and bolder, Big Macca stepped forward and poked it again, harder this time. The bundle made an angry noise of surprise, and lurched away, swearing colourfully as its head came into harsh contact with the wall behind it. Big Macca jumped backwards, evidently surprised at this violent and sudden reaction. Britney laughed.

The bundle, he could now see, had been a sleeping girl. She didn't appear to have noticed them, and was rubbing the back of her head, an expression of pain and disgruntlement clouding her face. He took the opportunity to size her up, and if first impressions were anything to go by, she was about the same age as him and somewhat unkempt, with long, thick, tangled blonde hair.

The pain appeared to have subsided, or at least enough for her to realise she was not alone and she glared at Big Macca, 'Wha' de ya think yer _doing_?' she asked, speaking furiously quickly, 'Ye woke me up! Ye never 'eard the phrase, let sleepin' girls lie?'

Big Macca was taken aback; _no one_ spoke to him like that. 'Do you know who I _am_?' he settled on saying, after opening and closing his mouth a few times, lost for words.

'Ah don't care who yeh are!' she snapped back quickly, her accent coming through thicker than normal, annoyed both by being woken up, and by his considerable arrogance. The though that they could either be potential captors or saviours had been lost in the moment. 'Yeh woke me up!'

'Yes, yes, you've already said that,' Big Macca retorted, still in a state of considerable shock. 'The point is, what are you doing? You're on our turf!'

'I'm 'avin' a bath and a box o' chocolates,' she said sarcastically, 'what does it look like?'

Britney snorted in amusement, and her gaze snapped to him, ''O are you?' she demanded, though it was tinged with curiosity. It wasn't every day she saw a dark skinned man with a tattooed head wearing a skirt, he supposed.

Brit walked slowly towards her, 'I'm Brit, and he's Mac,' he said, waving his thumb in Big Macca's direction, 'He'll try and get you to call him Sir Paul though, but you don't need to worry about that.'

He knew he was being overly trusting, but if his suspicions were correct and she'd been sleeping rough that night, and possibly many before, she was unlikely to be a GaGa, for all her GaGaish appearance. Plus, now that her face wasn't distorted by pain, she was very pretty, and that accounted for a lot in his book. He crouched down beside her, and she took the proffered hand, 'Hi.' She gave him a shy smile, and he realised that he had been wrong about her age; she was almost certainly a good few years younger than he was.

'Are you okay?' he asked, genuinely concerned, 'That was quite a whack you took.' He looked into her eyes for the first time, struck by the intensity of their emerald green colour.

She nodded, 'Yeah, thanks.'

'So what are you doing out here?' Brit asked gently, wordlessly telling Big Macca to leave the interrogation to him.

'Wha's it t' yeh?' she said, suddenly suspicious.

'Nothing. But you're clearly not the average GaGa girl if you're sleeping rough.'

She scowled at him, 'Ah'm no GaGa girl,' she said emphatically, surprising all three of them by the strength of her response. 'An' Ah'm no' average, either,' she added after a moment, equally as emphatically.

Brit chuckled, 'So you're not,' he said amusedly, then, carefully, 'so who are you? I can't just keep calling you 'you'. Can you at least make up a name, if you're not prepared to divulge your real one?'

She regarded him suspiciously again, slightly confused, 'Wha' d'yeh mean? Ah don' understan' long words.'

He smiled at her, 'Sorry. What can I call you?'

'Tha's be'er. An mah name's Roxanne, but most people call me Roxie,' she offered, relaxing slightly. She shrugged, 'Yeh can call me wha' ya want.'

At the mention of her name, Big Macca walked over, interested. 'Sorry 'bout… earlier,' he said hesitantly, not used to making apologies. He didn't wait for a response, but continued, 'Where did you get your name?'

She looked at him quizzically for a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not all his marbles were still with him, then said, 'Ah d'no, Ah've always had it.'

'So, you didn't… _dream_… it?' he asked guardedly.

'No,' she said warily, wondering if it was a trick question. Big Macca looked disappointed, and dejectedly let Brit continue questioning her.

'So.. Roxie, where were you planning on going next?' Brit asked casually.

She shrugged again, 'Ah thought maybe Ah'd try an-' she stopped abruptly. 'Wha's wi' all the questions? Yeh know mah name and 'o Ah am not, an' Ah d'no anythin' 'bout you, 'cept yeh names.' She wrinkled her nose, 'Yeh 'ave funny names down south.'

Brit laughed again, certain she was not a spy, but was still careful; if he was wrong, there'd be a _hell _of a lot of trouble. 'What makes you think they're our real names?'

'Ah d'no. 'Cause no one'd give 'emselves a fake name?'

'Well that's where you're wrong. We don't like using our real names, so we give ourselves names from the past.' At the mention of the past, Big Macca glared at him.

She looked at him suspiciously again, taking in his strange and colourful attire, and Big Macca's similar manner of dress, and even more outlandish hair. 'Are yeh the Bohemians?' she asked after a moment's thought.

'What makes you say that?'

She shrugged, 'Ah d'no. Jus' 'eard tha' they're int'rested in th' pas' tha's all. An yeh don' look like GaGas.'

Brit surveyed her intensely, probing into her eyes, trying to determine if she was telling the truth, 'Okay,' he said after a moment, 'She's clean Mac. She's telling the truth.'

'Why wouldn'a be?' she said, affronted. 'I got nothin' t'ide.'

'See?'

Big Macca nodded, 'Well, in that case, we'd best be going young missy, and you'd best come with us.' The sun had now fully risen, and he was anxious to be back at the Heartbreak, out of sight of the GaGa world.

'Why?'

'Do you want to stay a GaGa?' She shook her head, and Brit continued, 'Then come with us. We can give you it _all_. We can give you freedom,' his eyes sparkled at the word, the very thought of it exhilarating.

'Sounds perfect, le's go!'

Brit grinned and helped her to her feet. 'We're going down.'


	10. 2309 September 26th Alistair

**If you recognise it, it's not mine.**

**2309. September 26th. Alistair**

Alistair Amadeus Khashoggi, the newly appointed Commander sat down at his computer in a rare moment of peace. He had been appointed to the position of Commander, his cousin Arabella's Second-in-Command, and Head of the Secret Police on the first of the month, and hadn't had a moment to himself in the intervening days. He had spent almost two decades with his aunt and uncle, and through them had risen through the ranks in Globalsoft Security, finally attaining the highest position. He had kept his promise to Leila, and had done his best to follow her child, but without a name it had been impossible while in the lower ranks. He didn't even know if the child was a boy or girl. But now, he had access to all the archives and social security; all he had to do was search the birth records for the Southern Scottish District for the date he knew the child had been born. Sure enough, he soon found it.

_Name: Roxanne Olivia Carla Kingson  
Date of Birth: 15/12/2289  
__Time of Birth: 23:14  
__Place of Birth: Southern Scottish District, Euro-Precinct.  
__Branch Code: SSD-01706/68-1  
__Name of Mother: Leila Olivia Kingson  
Name of Father: Joseph Richard Khashoggi _

He frowned at the last line; Leila had never wanted Joseph to be acknowledged as the child's father. He supposed it had been found through DNA matches; at birth, the DNA of each child was taken and tested against that of the supposed father. All records had to be _accurate, _and it prevented later problems with identification, for example, if a Bohemian was captured and refused to give their name, their identity would be found through their DNA. It also helped notify the authorities of any unsuitable persons that needed close watching, as it was likely that they had Bohemian tendencies. He scrolled down the page, examning the listed records, searching for any clue as to her current whereabouts.

_Education: VirtualPrimary SSD/14  
Enrolled: 05/09/2295  
Graduated: 30/06/2301  
VirtualHigh SSD/05  
Enrolled: 05/09/2301  
Address: ApartmentPBlock 1  
Sector A  
WestCentral  
Southern Scottish District  
EuroPrecinct_

**_Appearance:  
_**_Hair Colour: Blonde  
Eye Colour: Green  
__Skin Tone: Pale  
Height: 5'3  
__Build: Slight  
__Blood Type: B+_

Alistair blinked in shock. The 3D photograph beneath the 'Appearance' section could easily have been Leila, though the height surprised him. Leila had been at least 5'6, and Joseph had been 6'1. Clearly, rogue genes had made an appearance.

**_Additional Information:  
_**_Birth mother deceased – complications with birth – adopted  
__Adoptive Mother: Kelly Taylor-Johnston  
__Adoptive Father: Luke Johnston  
Adoptive Name: Roxanne Kelly Johnston __  
15/12/2304 - Child reverted to birth name  
14/05/2305 - Displayed slight Bohemian Tendencies. Not considered serious.  
__18/06/2305 – Reported Missing  
__18/07/2305 – Search Abandoned.  
19/07/2305 - Presumed Dead or Bohemian. Body Not Recovered._

There, the file ended. She had been missing for over four years. Alistair sat in stunned silence, staring at the screen. Forcing himself back to reality, he proceeded to methodically search the archives of the missing and the dead, but there was nothing. The trail had long since gone cold. She had vanished. He smiled at the memory of Leila's words, _'you can't find those who don't want to be found'_, quite clearly, Roxanne had no wish to be found. All he could hope for was that she had found the Bohemians and that they had welcomed her. He scrolled back up the page, pausing at the 'Name of Father' entry. He wanted to remove it, but knew it was impossible; fact could not be changed. The fact was that their technology was too advanced; things that were better left unknown were permanently and irreversibly recorded, no matter what the consequence. That boy, Gordon Jones, for example; He was only 15, but his every move was scrutinised, and the Commander knew he would cause him innumerable headaches for years to come, secluding him from those it was inadvisable he came into contact with. He was already in his fourth orphanage; not even the most ardent supporter of the Globalsoft Corporation wanted responsibility for him.

His pager beeped loudly, alerting him to the fact that he was needed elsewhere. He sighed, and logged out of the archive, removing all trace of him having been there. Duty called.


	11. 2312 May 14th Alistair

**For the last time, if you recognise it, it's not mine.**

**2312. May 14****th****. Alistair.**

He was drawn, like so many others, by the electricity of the beat. It was all consuming, and the _power_ behind it was unlike that he'd ever seen. There had been many attempts to overthrow Globalsoft, and the regime of the Killer Queen, but this, he felt, was it. He leant against one of the pillars to the gates of Wembley Stadium, watching. He had to hand it to him; this kid, or Galileo Figaro, as he'd told him his name was, was magical. There was an aura about him, something that drew people to him.

'_We are the champions of the world!'_

The music, real music, finished in an explosion of noise, unlike any created by Globalsoft. A blonde danced towards Galileo and the girl, ww. clearly delighted by the reinvention of live music. He vaguely recognised her as the one whose boyfriend had been killed, in the capture of the Heartbreak Hotel. He would have liked to have been able to talk to the Bohemians, to ask if they knew anything of Roxanne. Her file had never been amended since his initial discovery of it, and in almost seven years, there had been no news of her. But, as always, circumstances had stood in his way. He'd told Killer Queen he'd lost the Dreamer and his Bad Arsed Babe, and he'd had his mind blown. One mistake in almost three years of loyal service to Killer Queen herself, and almost two decades of service to Globalsoft and security itself, and that had been it.

A hushed silence fell over the stadium, and he realised everyone was staring at him, no doubt wondering what he was doing there. Deciding there was nothing left for him to lose, he approached the central group; the Dreamer, his Bad Arsed Babe, the Blonde, and two others. One, he vaguely recognised as a Hippy Librarian he'd been forced to torture for information a decade previously, the other, he believed had been the Bohemian ringleader.

He smiled nervously at them, 'Congratulations, Mr Figaro. This is some achievem-' He was cut off abruptly as the blonde, Miss Loaf, he now recalled, slapped him hard across the face.

'Yeh _bastard_!'

The loathing in her voice was tangible, the ringleader forced her back and she dissolved into tears on his shoulder. Her cries of _'I hate you'_ could be heard through muffled sobs. Almost abruptly as it had started, her shoulders ceased shaking, and the sobs subsided, and she spun round to face him again.

'Why'd yeh do i'? We did nothin' t'yeh.' It had been years since he'd heard an accent such as hers, one from the Southern Scottish Precinct, and it took him by surprise.

He looked from her to the other members of the group and back again. He shrugged, 'Killer Queen decides what happens, Killer Queen gives the orders, I pass them on. On a technicality, _I_ didn't do anything. I'm a high-class messenger, nothing more.'

'Yeh did nothin' t' stop 'er. An' yeh coulda done!'

'I couldn't!' he snapped forcefully.

She couldn't accept that, and slapped him again. He was prepared for it this time, and caught her wrist, 'Ge' _off_ o' me!' she yelled, wrenching her wrist from his grasp. But that had been enough; through the grime, dirt, makeup and tearstains, he'd seen her eyes. Her face had changed with the years of wear and through the hardships of life, and the photo had been outdated, but the eyes hadn't changed.

'Roxanne,' he said softly, relieved. The word caught her off guard, and her sudden reaction of recognition was all the proof he needed. 'You're the spit of your mother.'

She looked puzzled, 'What do you mean?'

'I knew your mother. She made me promise to look out for you,' he smiled wryly, 'And what a mess I made of that. Missing for nearly seven years. She'd be proud of you.' He felt inside his breast pocket and produced the locket, taking her hand, he dropped it into it and closed her hand around it. 'She asked me to give you this.'

He smiled at each of them in turn, Galileo last of all, 'All the best, kids. I won't trouble you any more.' He turned away, his debt to Leila repaid. He'd see her again, soon, and he'd be able to tell her of the Bohemian that had been made of her daughter, of the dance she'd led him, and of what she'd achieved. The irony of the initials Leila had given her hadn't been lost on him; she'd always had Bohemian tendencies, after all.

'Hey!' the Scottish voice stopped him, and he turned to find her running after him, 'Ah'm not done arguin' with yeh yet. So, will... will yeh stay?'


End file.
